Pretty Little Head
by Saori Aki Orimi
Summary: Some jobs just introduce you to the most interesting people… [shounenai, SquallSeifer]
1. Seifer Almasy

Pretty Little Head

Summary: Some jobs just introduce you to the most interesting people… shounen-ai, Squall/Seifer

Warnings: While this is not planned to be yaoi, it is shounen-ai, boy love. If you didn't figure that out from the pairing, this is your warning. If you don't like it, don't flame for it. You were warned.

Second Warning: I hope to manage this without OOC-ness, but it may be slightly impossible. You'll find out why once reading it. –.—

Third Warning: Oh yeah, this is AU. So, expect some things to be quite different. I might be messing with the ages a bit. (sweatdrop)

Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy VIII. I don't even really own the title of this fic- I stole it from a Nellie McKay CD because it seemed to work so well I couldn't resist.

o.O.o.0.o.O.o.0.o.O.o

It was not a well-known fact that Seifer Almasy had a job. Most of his friends thought he was some sort of layabout in that department- surely he seemed to have enough time that it seemed he never had to be at work.

So, when Raijin and another of his 'friends' (most of whose names he had never really bothered to get to know- there were simply too many suckups in the world to remember all their names.) had their request shot down by, "Sorry, I've got work," they were understandably confused.

"Whoa, dude, since when do you actually have a job?" Derek, that was his name. Amazing really what the mind picks up even when you don't mean it to. Certainly Seifer had never thought he'd remember the man's name. He'd learned that generally he didn't need to. Names actually weren't used when addressing people as much as you'd think.

However, this insinuation that he was some sort of, of jobless layabout, irked Seifer a bit.

"Since nearly a year ago, that's when. Or at least for this job. I had a different one for two years or so before that. Got boring when they wanted to promote me to manager or something. Take my word for it, never work at a grocery store." Seifer smirked at the various stunned expressions on four faces. Actually there were five people grouped around him, but Fuujin would never deign to wear an expression of shock. It was too intense an emotion for her to express properly, he assumed.

"What, you really thought I attended college for two years without a job?" he pushed, putting an expression of mock annoyance on his face. Or maybe not so fake- it was far too easy to do to be all the way an imitation.

"But you dropped out of college, y'know?" Raijin said, cringing like a puppy about to be smacked. You'd think he'd have learned that Seifer had grown out of smacking people around sometime around his senior year of high school.

"Yeah, and you always have time to do whatever- it's like you're never busy. How do you do that with a job?" Derek asked wonderingly.

Seifer clipped the back of the man's shaggy blond head with one hand. "How do you think I _paid_ for all the crap you dragged me into if I didn't have a job?"

"Dunno, maybe you mooched off your parents."

A repeat of the earlier blow made Derek wince and mildly glare at him, rubbing his abused head. Okay, so he hadn't quite grown out of smacking people around. Just Raijin. "I grew up in an _orphanage_, dumbass. Kinda hard to mooch off that." he scoffed.

"Oh yeeeaaaahh!" Raijin exclaimed. "I forgot about that, y'know."

Seifer had to restrain himself from whacking the taller man across the side of the head. Hmm. Maybe he really did have to work on this hitting people thing.

"Anyway. Yes, I do have a job and I need to get to it, so I'll have to see you later. Have fun." He waved shortly at them instead of abusing the other man.

"Bye, Seifer!!" came the chorus to his departing back.

He was pleasantly surprised when none of them tried to follow him. Sometimes it paid for the only truly intelligent one of his friends to be the kind who wouldn't pry into his life.

Well, he reconsidered, maybe she would. If it was something like if he was cutting his wrists or taking drugs. Then he assumed that Fuujin would probably hit him over the head with something either sharp or very heavy (possibly both) and drag him to the hospital. Or somewhere equally demeaning.

Seifer turned a corner, entering the place that his 'friends' had been making fun of not too long. Nice, really, that they'd already passed it- now they wouldn't be here again for a while. Well, they wouldn't be anywhere for a while, since Derek was dragging all the even partially willing to his "totally awesome skate park I found yesterday."

The girl at the counter greeted him as he entered. "Hey, Almasy. Nice to see you on time for once."

"Aww, Sharon, your words hurt me." he gasped, holding both hands over his heart. "I'm not late _that_ much, am I?"

"Yes, actually, you are." she said sternly, attempting to keep a serious expression on her face.

"I only do it to make sure you're good and ready to see my face, you know. Otherwise the shock of seeing something so handsome might just send you into a coma."

"You do not." she snorted, losing the battle. "Go." She motioned back beyond the counter. Those midday customers that were waiting were watching him strangely. Figured. Midday customers were never regulars.

Seifer wound his way around the small, supposedly 'ergonomically shaped' standing counters that were littered across the small floor area of the shop. It was more abstract than ergonomic, but the way the counter squeezed from a foot and a half wide at either end to maybe five inches in the middle did make it easier to do his job.

He grabbed the tiny pin that was the only part of the uniform he deigned to wear; black and oval with gold lettering spelling his name. Aprons, while managing to look quite sexy on some people, were just not his thing. Plus, it wasn't like he cared what he got on these particular jeans, which were tastefully (but not purposefully) ripped across the knees and thighs, and splattered with dusky purple paint from when he had been dragged into helping Rachel, another of the girls here, paint her new dining room. The shirt, well, actually, getting something powdery on it wouldn't hurt it and getting something goopy and oil-based on it might make it tolerably less new-looking.

Rolling up the sleeves to the stark white dress shirt he wore untucked and contrasting to the casual jeans, the blonde slung himself semi-gracefully into the chair on his side of the counter designated his when he was on duty. He shared it back and forth with some girl named Sydney; she had quickly learned to deal with how _he_ wanted it arranged, rather than the other way around. Despite the differences in their seniority, Seifer knew his way was best.

He was forced to nudge some of the brushes and bottles aside to make room across the tiny bridge of the counter, then go looking through the drawers for his remover bottle.

"No, really, ma'am, Seifer will get you. He's never had an unsatisfied customer yet." Sharon was encouraging a vaguely middle-aged woman. Seifer smirked up at the counter, where the woman was throwing him a suspicious look. He twirled a small, fan-shaped brush between two fingers, slouched in the chair with his legs thrust out and crossed at the ankle, the over-long jeans leaving only the slightly dirty soles of his tennis shoes showing. He let Sharon do the convincing.

The woman ending up heading his way nervously, clutching onto her large brown handbag like it was the only thing preserving sanity in her world. Hell, perhaps it was. Seifer didn't try too hard to understand the minds of middle-aged women. Partial understanding of women his age was difficult enough.

"Hello, ma'am." he greeted with an easy smile, pulling himself into the chair properly and leaning one elbow on the counter, still twirling the brush. "What are you looking for today?"

"Ah, just the nails." she said suspiciously, placing the handbag in her lap. Seifer gave her a quick appraising sweep. Probably about forty or so; looking for some pampering while the kids were at school. Possibly had a long put-off date with her husband, or, more likely, a new man after a divorce, he thought, looking at the absence of a ring on her finger.

"You sure you don't wanna make that the hands? I'm sure they'd come clean and pretty, fingers like that." he said, masking the suggestion by arranging the varied bottles of nail polish in neat little rows for her to choose from.

She fluttered her hands back onto the handle of her bag as if to hide them from this strange young man who, if not being perfectly serious, put on a perfect façade of sincerity. "Ah, I'm just looking for the nails." she said.

"Of course." She was a stubborn one, not to submit to his suggestions immediately. Or perhaps it'd simply been too long since he'd worked the Wednesday late morning-early afternoon shift. Usually he was an early morning or early afternoon worker. "Was there a specific color you were going for, something to match an outfit, or something more subtle?"

"Um, just something gentle?" she suggested. Definitely not used to going to a place like this.

"Of course. French manicure, perhaps?" Seifer hated it sometimes that he knew these things, but they came in handy every now and then, regardless of the stupid girliness of the trivia.

His real specialty was makeup, whether dramatic and thick, archaic and highly contrasting, or modernly understated subtlety. The early morning shifts were full of the latter, the businesswomen either too high on the social ladder or too inept or inexperienced to do it themselves coming in for others to do it for them. That was where he found his regulars.

That and in the flood of younger women and girls, teens coming in after school for this, that, to gossip, to find new products and ways of attempting to make themselves seem so much older and more mature than they were.

Which was what was currently replacing the middle-aged women who left at once looking triumphant and embarrassed. Chattering girls entered in twos and threes, sometimes singles meeting each other in the waiting area, putting their names on the roster or bemoaning the business and long wait, then leaving.

Teenage girls, while fun to look at, were the best because of the way they didn't usually know what they were looking for. They simply wanted him to do something so they could see if they liked it and then maybe try it for themselves.

Not that they would ever truly be able to reproduce it. What he did was art, whether he wanted to admit to the decided unmanliness of the subject or not. The faces were the varied canvases, the brushes, powders, liners and lipsticks his mediums. What he turned each of these strange female creatures into was completely up to his imagination.

Seifer waved goodbye to his coworkers that day feeling rather worn down, which was strange considering that there was no actual physical activity involved in the job, but was actually quite common. Teenagers were so demanding- never mind that he was truly barely into his twenties himself.

Simple enough to right that- Seifer headed off to where, if he guessed right, Derek and a few of the hard-core skater friends would be staying at that skate park till the light dimmed enough for it to not be worth the risk of bodily harm. A good adrenaline rush should happily keep him up until near three in the morning. Perfect for a Friday evening.

o.O.o.0.o.O.o.O.o.0.o.O.o

Saturday was his day of mid-afternoon to early evening, getting the older and richer part of society who had strange unfathomable parties to go to, as well as the not-quite-so rich who needed something extra special for a wedding, a funeral, a holiday party.

Working holidays was a memory that made him cringe, but they paid so well that it was almost irresistible to do so. Hateable but irresistible. What a combination.

Luckily, it was just a normal weekend right now, not a crazy overloaded holiday filled with shrieking women who thought that _they_ ought to be put first in line because of course whatever they needed was _so_ much more important than that other biddy. He didn't envy Sharon or the other girls at the counter then.

"Rinoa!" Sharon was then exclaiming. "We haven't seen you in a while."

"Not since you and Seifer stopped seeing each other." Rachel said slyly, flicking a wet brush across an interested petite teenager's hands. Seifer resisted the urge to jab the woman with his elbow only because the intricate nail job she was working on would be ruined if he did.

"Ah, well, we got over it." the dark-haired girl said, leaning against the counter. Her sparkling brown eyes were fixed on him. He smirked and waved cockily at her, leaning back in his rickety swivel chair whose back creaked and threatened to break as he put nearly all his weight on the join between it and the seat of the chair, his long legs thrust out and crossed. He was a hazard both to himself and others as his legs, with their short, untied boots that his dark blue jeans tucked into, were probably all too easy to trip over.

"Y'mean _you_ got over it." Sharon joked, though her tone was sympathetic.

"Seifer was over it about an hour after you left in a riot." Rachel, who had been there at the scene, snorted.

"Bastard." Rinoa laughed ruefully. "I feel sorry for anyone else you date, really I do." She strolled her way over to his desklike counter, sitting in the chair on the other side in such a way as to spin her around twice before she came to rest facing him.

"So. Do me once more for old time's sake?"

"Oh my, Rinoa, really." he said with pretended shocked propriety. "Right here on the counter? I really don't think it's big enough." His smirk turned downright suggestive.

Rinoa laughed along with the others, both employees and customers alike, though she was blushing. "You're so crude." she accused, just as she had any number of times before. "No, I want a face paint job. Anything you want."

"You're not getting this for free." he warned.

"Miserly as ever." she rolled her eyes. "Even for a poor abused old girlfriend?"

"Nope. 'Fraid you used all that up when you _were_ my girlfriend. Best we can offer you is half price."

It wasn't that unusual, really, especially for Seifer, to give ridiculous freebies and discounts to regulars or those he liked. The competition among regulars for the attentions of any of the staff was already fierce; his talent and underhanded generosity made it all the worse.

"Sounds good. Do as you will." she agreed, relaxing into her 'doll face' as he called it, that gentle, pretty, empty look that all beautiful spoiled girls learn from when daddy shows them off. Usually it pissed him off, but for doing the makeup, or 'face paint' as they liked to call it here, it was pure heaven. She barely twitched even when he went for the eyeliner on the inside of the lid, closer to the eye than the lashes, which was more than he could say for most people.

He knew, from experience, what suited Rinoa; girlish and subtle, but still striking- and striking was his favorite to do. One day when they were still dating he had done her up as close to a Japanese geisha as he could, which had made her giggle and ask him what on Earth he was doing while it was being worked on and nearly scream at him in shock when she finally saw. It didn't actually look half bad on her with her thick dark hair though, so she'd gotten a camera and taken pictures of the looks on everyone's faces as she wore it around for the rest of the day.

"So, what's the occasion?" he asked as he finished the delicate eye work, drawing the point of the liquid liner pen away from her face.

"First date!" she chirped.

"Uh. I'm offended." Seifer gasped, twisting the pen back into position. "You would come to me just before a date with a new guy, after dumping me like that?"

"The feelings were mutual, I seem to remember." She rolled her eyes, her last chance to do so before he motioned for them to be closed.

"What color you planning to wear?"

"This." she answered, blindly motioning to her light blue duster and dark pants. A button-down shirt that had a barely dusted cloud-shaped swirling pattern printed on it in glitter showed underneath the duster. It stretched nicely across her breasts, just enough to draw attention without the downright provocative gap that sometimes happened on that kind of shirt.

"That?" Seifer eyed the sleeveless duster and rolled up shirt sleeves under it. "I'm no expert, but that looks kind of casual. You wear that thing, what, every other day?"

"I didn't say it was going to be anything serious, Seifer!" she protested childishly. "I don't want to be too formal- it might scare him off."

"Your face is enough to scare anything off, Princess." he said mockingly.

"What the hell are you doing--?!" she screeched before she figured out his insult. "Oh, ha ha, very funny." she grumbled. "I thought you screwed with the makeup."

"I could tell, oh intelligent one." Seifer was having fun now. He was never so happy as when he had complete control over those he was making fun of- if they moved, or sometimes even tried to fight back verbally—well, oops. There went that eyeshadow, isn't that purple a pretty color for your cheek? Oh my, that bright red lipstick suits your chin so well.

Her eyes flickered open as he finished brushing white, blue, and glitter over the lids. Glitter was one of the hardest things to do- too much and they looked like either an experimenting prepubescent or a fairy queen from the Nutcracker, too little and there was no point at all. And it was so easy to get too much when something was as flashy as sparkles.

"What _have_ you been doing to yourself?" he asked in a sweet near-falsetto tone, patting her cheeks. "You're flushed, dearie."

Rinoa glared at him as she heaved a sigh. "It's sunburn." she told him. "I've been at Father's beach house, since he wasn't there at that time."

"I thought so." he said more sincerely. "Well, that skips the blush then. You and your perfect skin still doing okay?"

He received another acid glare and no answer. When he had first met her, the 'perfect skin' had been not-so-perfect, and he had teased her mercilessly about it, as any flaw in her physical appearance was likely to vex Rinoa.

Seifer placed a finger on her lips when she was going to finally respond. "Ah ah ah. Lipstick next." A muffled grumble of annoyance escaped her as he selected a color just a tad redder and darker than her lips. Gloss that was liquid enough to be shiny without being enough to be blinding in light went over that. Some girls liked the extra shine; Rinoa didn't need it.

"All done." he announced as he flicked the cap back on the gloss. He let her pull the mirror around herself- it was Rinoa, for god's sake; who expected him to show her the same courtesy he would to customers? ...Except right now she technically was a customer. Argh.

When logic failed to justify him, Seifer decided to abandon it. Logic was vastly overrated in the large scheme of things, anyway.

"Thank you, Seifer!" Rinoa squealed after checking her reflection, hugging him around the neck and sending his chair rolling back a few feet with a protesting scream of wheels. "You really need to get that chair replaced." She wrinkled her nose cutely at the cause of the hideous noise.

"I like this chair." he said. It was a nice chair. Plus, how would he annoy people just by being present for work without his chair? Certainly Sydney didn't use it, but enough people here were his friends that if anyone tried to throw the rattly old thing out, they'd be stopped.

"Riiight." She didn't understand why, of course. Silly girl. "Well, I'll call you and tell you how it goes, okay?"

"Sure." he agreed with some internal trepidation. If it went well, she'd be chattering a mile a minute about it. If not, she'd be either ranting angrily or sobbing at him for comfort. Any way, his poor ears were doomed.

"Ta!" she called as she pranced out the door after paying.

"Bye!" came the chorus from Sharon, Rachel, Seifer, and a few of the other girls, not even bothering to look up from their work.

o.O.o.0.o.O.o.0.o.O.o

A/N: Right, well, here's my first chapter. I came up with the idea and wrote the first half of it in Sicily, not that it really shows. But I can blame the absolute craziness of the concept on that fact. Yes, I made Seifer a makeup artist. Fear it.

Well, fear a couple chapters further on even more. I can't wait. (squeals)

I would love to hear what others think about this. Flames, however, are not appreciated. If you think that this is too girly for Seifer, or something else, you are not required to continue reading. And if you have unfounded dislike, I don't need to hear it. If you think the characterizations are off, I would like advice on how to _change_ them for the better, not mere that they're 'wrong' or 'bad.'

Sorry about the rambles. Hope you enjoyed.


	2. Squall Leonhart

Pretty Little Head

Summary: Some jobs just introduce you to the most interesting people… shounen-ai, Squall/Seifer

Warnings: This is shounen-ai (boy love). You were warned in the first chapter, so if you don't like it, I don't know why you're still here. (Unless it's for the novelty of Seifer as a makeup artist.) It is AU. (I hope you noticed that by now. O.o) And while I try try try to not make them OOC, I may sometimes fail, and for this I am sorry.

Disclaimer: While I haven't played it in over two weeks due to being in Sicily, I don't own Final Fantasy VIII characters. Actually, I don't even own the game. I'm borrowing it from a friend. --.—

o.O.o.0.o.O.o.0.o.O.o

Squall didn't _hate_ people, though popular rumor put about that he did. Popular rumor also, however, when it bothered to communicate about him, said that Squall Leonhart was anything from a psychopathic murderer to a suicide candidate to a red-light district employee. With more than several things in between.

Oh no, Squall didn't hate people. He hated popular rumor.

It was just one of the many reasons he tended not to associate with the human race in general.

Of course, being the hypocrite that he knew everybody was (yet condemned most people for, and tried for the most part not to be) there were certain specimens of the human race that he did not only associate with, but bonded with and generally called his friends.

All this did not stop the phrase, "I hate people," from running around his head in chaotic little circles like an epileptic hamster on a broken wheel as he made his way through the crowded halls on his way to high school math class.

Technically it wasn't high school math anymore- once you started taking Calculus it could count towards college credits. Squall didn't really want to start thinking about college credits yet. Wasn't planning on a college and working on scholarships for said college enough without worrying about the _credits_ when you were still racking up your high school credits?

"Yo-o, Squall!! Squa-a-all!" Selphie's voice rang out. The brunette ran up and attached herself to his arm, making him grimace ever so slightly and attempt to wriggle the limb out of her tiny, limpet-like grip. Once she decided to hang on to something, she really hung on.

"Look, look what I--- have!" she sang, digging in her bag with one arm and allowing him the chance to escape the slackened grip of the other.

She pulled a battered spiral-bound drawing book out of the ridiculously oversized side-along bag slung over her shoulder. Half the cover had been ripped off and patched back together with duct tape, and the pages were uneven and slightly discolored until halfway through, where the untouched, smooth white pages made a stark contrast even looking at the closed side of the book.

Squall was wide-eyed, angrily entranced as she waved it back and forth in front of him.

"That's right, it's your drawing book! You left it at the café last Thursday, remember? Well, I called the manager that night and I didn't manage to go pick it up until yesterday, but he did keep it for me, so here it is."

Squall could have hugged her. Except that would be far more physical contact than he could initiate and not end up a blushing, stammering idiot.

"Selphie…" he breathed instead. "I can't believe it."

"You're welcome!" she chirped, a wide smile breaking over her face, and Squall knew she understood the sentiment even if he hadn't expressed it properly. She presented it to him and began to dash off as soon as he'd accepted his abused-looking property almost reverently, waving to him and calling "Can't be late again, I'd get a detention, see you at lunch Squall!"

The slim brunet was fairly sure he wouldn't be paying much attention in class today. On the other hand, perhaps he'd be able to keep the margins of his homework clear of doodles that his too-idle pencil seemed to sketch almost on its own.

For the first few minutes of the class, as the teacher began to round up the rowdy students into some semblance of learning order, he scanned through the dingy pages, refamiliarizing himself with the figures adorning them. It didn't matter that it was his own work- half the time looking over his own pictures was like looking at something completely new.

Only the ones he had truly worked on could he remember as his- the rest he drew in a sort of hurried haze, never quite knowing what was being drawn until he managed to come out of his artistic fancy.

Then he hit the first blank page, and with a pencil in his hand and pens and erasers in his bag, any hope of paying attention to the rest of the lesson was dashed. He would figure it out while he was doing his homework.

It wasn't that he didn't _do _his work, oh no. Squall did any assignment religiously. It was simply that he didn't necessarily follow the usual time schedule that was expected. If teachers assigned an in-class project, he was more likely to go home and finish it in two days than work on it in the four class days they had.

For one, it gave him the excuse of homework if Zell or Selphie were trying to pull him into some sort of crazy scheme. For two, Squall hated working in class. He didn't consider school his work- his work was his art. There was no point in spending the boredom-spawned creativity school produced in doing nothing- so he used that time to draw.

The brunet blinked when the bell rang, shaking the long strands of his bangs out of his eyes and hurriedly packing up the various sticks of ink and graphite he had been using, not bothering to put them in their proper compartments but just keeping them in his hand as he stuck the notebooks that created the illusion of him working on his assignments into his bag. He trailed out the door after the majority of the students had pressed out, sparing a glance at the few students taking even longer to pack up than he had.

"Squa-all!" Selphie's voice greeted him. He looked over to see her skittering around the pack of other students in the hall. She grabbed his sleeve, happy, breathless. "Yay, lunchtime! I'm starved, c'mon!"

He followed her willingly, as soon as she had detached from his sleeve with rolled eyes at his continued adversity to her clingy tendencies.

"Where are you going?" she asked accusingly when he stood outside the line she'd chosen. "Are you not eating again?"

"I don't have any money in my account, Selphie." he explained in monotone.

"Squall!" she cried, exasperated. "You really need to stop this 'not eating' thing! It's not healthy to skip eating meals, you know!"

He did know; they liked to pound that into your head in stupid classes like psychology and health. Squall was glad he was done taking those classes. He couldn't stand to be surrounded by idiots asking stupid questions and giggling when the teacher brought up subjects like sex.

Even the boys giggled. The girls actually made sounds that were more like titters. Just because he didn't _really _hate people did not prevent him from greatly disliking them the majority of the time.

"I'm not hungry at lunchtime." he said patiently.

"Ohh, fine." She pouted, loading her tray while still talking to him. "It's so annoying when you're not eating though, you just sit there like a lump and it makes me feel bad for having food."

Squall decided not to reply on that one- it was simply too hard to decipher what to say to Selphie to make her get off his case.

Zell popped up shortly after they'd settled in at their usual table in the corner of the cafeteria. He set his tray down and slung his backpack beneath his chair- never mind that backpacks weren't allowed in the cafeteria. He'd gotten it confiscated twice for that offense.

"Hey, Squall, you've got your book back!" he noted enthusiastically as he dropped into his chair with the oddly erratic sort of grace that only Zell Dincht could manage.

Squall nodded assent, not looking up from the finishing touches he was adding to the flourishing sweep of patterned cloth on the paper with a tiny ball-point pen. He ignored Zell looking over his shoulder with only minimal difficulty. While other people watching still bothered him, his friends he didn't count among the ranks of ordinary people.

The blonde and Selphie held some sort of conversation he didn't quite catch, lost again in the dream of the pen over the paper. He was roused from his half-contemplation of the finished product by Zell poking him in the shoulder. He shrugged to get the offending finger away.

"Hey, Squall. Can I look through?" he asked, pointing to the drawing book, whatever he had been eating long gone. Squall surrendered the book without a sound. "All right!" Zell cheered. Usually, Squall knew he was possessive of his notebooks, particularly the unlined drawing books. But after receiving it back when he'd thought it was probable he'd never see it again, he was in a good mood.

He ignored Zell and Selphie, who immediately shifted over to be able to look as well (never mind that she had probably taken full advantage of having had it in her possession for a while). In his mind, he drifted.

He had a first 'date' with Rinoa later today. It was completely ridiculous considering he'd known her since he was nine, but there had really never been anything he could refuse the dark-haired girl. Even if she annoyed the hell out of him most of the time.

Really, he'd already assured her that he was under no circumstances taking her out someplace nice, so there shouldn't be too much of a problem- she wouldn't drag him somewhere ritzy with the possibility of the threat that she would have to pay for herself. As it was, Squall didn't see what was different in this than the other innumerable times she'd tried to drag him into public. Rinoa simply wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Hey, thanks man, but I gotta run, bell's gonna ring soon." Zell's voice brought him out of his reverie. The closed drawing book was laid in front of him, and he looked up to see the blonde gathering his stuff together in an inefficient mess, Selphie's 'help' not really aiding the situation.

Squall nodded, putting his own things (what had still been out, anyway) away and standing up. Selphie noticed him and waved him off with a cheerful, "Byyyyeeee, Squall! See you after school!"

She seemed to have every time she could possibly run into him memorized. Squall rolled his eyes in internal resignation. Selphie was kindhearted, and he liked her, but she was far too bouncy to not get on his nerves half the time.

Two people jostled him repeatedly as they crashed their way through the hall, causing him to throw them his best death glare. They glanced at him before hurrying on their way.

Squall hated people.

o.O.o.0.o.O.o.O.o.0.o.O.o

"What's got you down today, darlin'?" the auburn-haired man asked, pushing up the black cowboy hat he wore as if to get a better look at the sullen brunet in front of him. His emphasis on 'today' suggested that seeing Squall in this mood wasn't something out of the ordinary.

"Nothing." Squall answered, pointedly ignoring Irvine. It was harder than usual today when the cowboy was following him around as he swept a mop over the floor. "Don't you have a job to do?" he finally snapped.

"Nope." Irvine replied in his easy drawl. "The place's empty, or didn't you notice?" He flung an arm out to indicate the deserted restaurant.

Squall scowled at him, annoyed that for once the man had a point. He swiped the mop over a stain on the floor nearly viciously.

"C'mon babe, tell me. I know something's on your mind. There always is."

"Go away, Irvine." Squall snapped.

Violet eyes widened at him in pretend shock, hands held up as though to ward away a wild animal. "Whoa there, easy."

Squall merely sent him another glare. He didn't want to talk about what was bothering him with Irvine. Trust only Irvine to catch onto his discomfort over Rinoa and their "date."

His friends were like that- each one of them caught onto only selected vibes he gave off. He was surprised Selphie hadn't noticed at school- romance was one of her favorites. She must have been distracted. He wasn't complaining.

Irvine wandered off in a half-sulk. Squall found it ridiculous. Irvine had to know by now that he wasn't going to tell him anything, so there was no point to being offended anymore.

Still, the man being gone did mean that he could finish his job in peace. By the time Squall was done with it, the floor was sparkling clean.

There was nothing in particular he liked about his job at Olive Garden, but it did make it easy to save up money. Irvine was a waiter and wine connoisseur even at just above 21- he told Squall that he had admitted to a good deal of underage drinking to the manager, but since he was of age now and fairly knowledgeable, he was hired anyway.

As that was, he didn't have to come in until about four, not three, when Squall arrived, but he was there anyway, mostly to flirt and cop feels with two of the cooks, Xu and Quistis, and annoy Squall. It seemed that way, anyway. It was possible there was actually something Irvine had to do that called him in early. Squall doubted it.

"Leonhart? You done out there?" Xu asked.

"Yes." he said, coming into the kitchen to stash the mop and tie on an apron.

Xu pointed him to a pot of pasta. "Fix that before it boils over."

Wordlessly he did so, then joined the blonde woman chopping vegetables on an adjoining counter. She pushed three bell peppers at him, throwing him a playful smile as she did so.

"What'd you say to Irvine?" she asked. "You've got him all in a sulk."

"'Go away,'" Squall replied tonelessly.

Quistis laughed at that one. "Nice." she congratulated him. The only sound was the click of his knife on the cutting board.

"Well, you're even less talkative than usual." she commented.

They just never stopped trying, did they. Xu, at least, generally left him alone, but she was a senior cook, having been there for four years already, and didn't know him except as the part timer who cleaned up and did preparatory work.

Around five, most of the other waiters and cooks came in, making ready for the first few customers that were just the first trickles of rain before the flood. By the time the flood started around 6:30 to 7:00, Squall would be leaving. He wouldn't make a very good waiter anyway, not like Irvine with his warm smiles and good looks.

Slightly irritated after the constant badgering of both Irvine and Quistis to tell them what was up, he headed home. He was supposed to pick Rinoa up at 7:30.

Squall sighed. This was ridiculous.

o.O.o.0.o.O.o.O.o.0.o.O.o

As he had predicted, a date with Rinoa was hardly a date. There was nothing special about it other than that she hung all over him even more than usual and tried her best to wring reciprocal affection out of him.

Seeing as even the increased efforts had been about as successful as usual, as well, she had finally stormed off in a huff, leaving Squall to reflect that she was the one who had decided it should be a date in the first place, so why had she expected him to even try?

He never could understand women. If all of them were like Rinoa and Selphie, they were unfathomable. Squall didn't really even _want_ to know what went on in their heads.

And right now, he didn't even want to examine what was going on in his own. If his body wasn't currently on autopilot, he wouldn't be doing this at all. His brain strongly protested listening to a word Rinoa said, so wasn't actually trying something she suggested completely out of the question?

Of course, he could argue that this wasn't just a suggestion of hers. She'd been bothering him about it for ages now. He'd just gotten fed up of her constant 'advice' and decided to act on it to forestall any more.

Once he was actually in sight of the place he was ready to give it up completely. True, Rinoa had pointed it out to him upon occasion, but he hadn't been paying attention. And there was no way he was going into a place with a sign that spelled "Balamb Beauty" in glittery cursive letters, unless he was drugged and left in there by a separate party.

Maybe he should actually start _listening_ when Rinoa started nagging, just so he'd actually have some idea what she was nagging him about. On the other hand, that was a one way ticket to a migraine. Which, considering that she'd already given him one that night, it was no wonder he'd said "yes" to her pleading that he pay a visit to this place.

… Damn. He _had_ said yes, hadn't he? Now he was obligated to go, or at least obligated if he didn't want to be forced to dope on headache medicine again. Rinoa really needed to learn to control that shriek. If she didn't do it when she was happy, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. She seemed _always_ happy. Only Selphie beat her.

With a certain sense of doom, Squall stepped into the shop.

o.O.o.0.o.O.o.0.o.O.o

A/N: Right! Well… Hmm, I feel kind of evil. But not really. I'm enjoying myself. I'm completely addicted to Seifer/Squall right now. Thank you to all who reviewed. Sorry about this chapter- Squall's harder to write than Seifer. (twitches) His character might have gotten a bit screwed up. If so, I'm sorry.

Right, so next chapter, they actually meet! Yay! (enjoys self)


	3. Challenge

Pretty Little Head

Warning: Still shounen-ai, still Seifer/Squall. If you don't like it, I cannot fathom why you are reading. Yes, I have a thing for putting makeup on boys. But we have to admit that Squall's all too perfect for it.

Disclaimer: Still don't own it… Still don't even own the game. (I am working on that one. And mocking my sister for trying to buy FFVII, which is so much more expensive.)

o.O.o.0.o.O.o.0.o.O.o

Squall knew this was an even worse idea than he had thought when he saw the entire room filled with girls. He had hoped that there would be fewer people in an establishment like this right after school, but he had been very, very wrong. While he didn't recognize anyone and didn't care as per that, it was still intensely uncomfortable.

At first no one seemed to register that he wasn't even a girl, so at least there was no instant moment of shock. Just rising whispers as one after another of them began to debate his gender.

Okay, he'd stopped in now, right? Now he could leave. No way was he sticking around any longer. Had he been anyone else he would have turned around and left even earlier than this.

The door chimed behind him and he edged nervously to the side, even further in. Something white, black, and blonde jumped past him and slid to a stop against the counter.

"Hey, Kisa, I made it! How about _them_ apples, eh? You thought I couldn't do it." The voice was out of breath, gloating, over confident, and deeply, unconditionally male. Squall's mind took a backflip. What. The. Hell.

"Very nice Seifer." The girl behind the counter rolled her eyes at him. "Yes, we are all amazed that you can make it back from your break in time. Never mind that you shouldn't really get a break at all, the number of times you fail to come back from it."

"You wound me. You know I don't leave when I have any customers."

Customers? Squall nearly choked. Did this guy _work_ here? Was that why Rinoa kept bugging him to come here?

"Uh-huh. So you say. But Sharon told me stories. Now go. Get to work."

"On what?" the blonde sounded insufferably smug now.

"Well…" the black-haired Asian girl behind the counter peered around him, scanning the people in the waiting area. Squall jumped and cursed internally when her eyes landed on him. Time to get out of here… fast.

"That looks like your kind of customer."

Squall was frozen. As the blonde turned around, it seemed to be slower than it probably actually was. It was like watching a train wreck or some horrible violent gory action on television- he couldn't draw his eyes away.

The white wifebeater tank top was broken by the bold black cross with a smaller blood red one inside it splashed across the front. Faded black jeans were held across his hips by a thin white cloth belt. Jade green eyes regarded him intensely. The tanned skin of his face was broken by a thin, gently darkened scar.

Now Squall really wanted to get out of here. There was no way this guy was good news. He disliked him on sight. And people called _him_ girly? The blonde worked at a _salon_.

"I dunno. Looks kinda scrawny. But maybe we can fix him up." There was a subtle emphasis on the pronoun, as though he took great satisfaction in the fact that he had noticed at all.

That was it. He didn't have to take this. Without a word, Squall turned to leave. He jumped when a warm hand encircled his wrist, cinching just tight enough that he knew he wasn't going anywhere if this guy didn't decide to let him go.

"Hey. Where do you think you're going, pretty-boy? The station's this way." There was that smug, superior tone in his voice again. It grated on Squall's nerves like glass on gravel at the same time as it slid over his skin like silk. He turned his head to glare at the man, even if it was ineffectual except to piss him off more at the smirk the blonde was treating him to.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Seifer's day had just become inestimably brighter with the advent of this little jewel. His first reaction had been slight shock. A boy in _this_ place? Seifer had been sure that he himself was the first man to have ever entered this establishment willingly without a female escort. And in all this time, he hadn't seen a single male other than those who dropped off a wife or girlfriend.

On further observation, he hadn't been quite sure what had immediately assured him of the guy's masculinity. Aside from the lack of breasts, there wasn't much else that wasn't androgynous to the extreme. The white shirt under a ratty, patched, oversized black flannel collared shirt outlined a slim body, while several belts slung around thin hips made at least the illusion of slight curves. His face was perfect, delicate and smooth, with grey-blue eyes that glared spitfire at him.

It wasn't until he shook the wild strands of dark chocolate hair out of his eyes to look over his shoulder at Seifer that he could see the slightly pinkish scar that cut across his face. What on Earth? How the hell did this guy end up with a scar to match his own?

When there was no answer to his jibing question, Seifer grinned and tugged on the thin wrist he held. There was no way he was letting this guy go free. It was too great an opportunity.

He encountered more resistance than he could have bargained for. Still, with such a small frame….

"Don't make me sweep you off your feet and chain you to the chair over there, missy. Don't doubt I can do it." he leaned in to the boy's ear and whispered, cackling evilly in his head. It increased tenfold when those eyes went wide briefly before narrowing at him in angry concentration.

"Don't worry 'bout putting him on the record, Kisa, this one's gonna be a freebie." he called to the petite girl watching them with amusement. The brunet went along with him much more compliantly after his little threat, though he could swear there was going to be a hole burned in his head from those eyes if he gave him much more time behind him.

"You sit here." Seifer instructed, letting the boy off next to the customer's chair. He strode over and dropped into his own chair himself, delighting in the wince that crinkled the other boy's scar at the screech of protest the seat gave.

Settling in properly just to make the chair wail a bit more, Seifer regarded his prey as it stanced, ready to make a break for it any time an opportunity was presented. Rachel was watching with interest in the time she had before Kisa sent another customer her way.

"You know, you actually have to sit. It's not that hard, is it?"

Seifer would have hotly refuted that you could really say much without _saying_ anything a day ago. But the boy in front of him certainly blew that theory straight to hell without even the courtesy of an elevator ride there. A thin frame like that shouldn't be able to look so threatening.

… Good thing Seifer was basically incapable of feeling truly threatened. He gave another broad gesture to the seat, legs thrust out and crossed in his usual relaxed position.

The brunet was stubborn, he had to give him that. He hadn't moved since Seifer had placed him next to the chair. Seifer took the opportunity to observe him, not really caring to be subtle about it. But eventually even his patience gave out.

"Does milady need to be seated, or can she do it herself?"

Grey-blue eyes narrowed instantly in, if not hate, then something close to it. "I'm not a girl." he said softly but vehemently, sitting down delicately.

"Of course not." Seifer agreed, chuckling. "So, what's your name? Age? Occupation?" he listed the major points of an interrogation. Not surprisingly, there was no reply.

"Oh come on. At least answer the first one."

"…Squall. Leonhart." He added the last name almost as an afterthought.

"So, Leonhart. What are we doing to that pretty face of yours today?"

Squall's face had turned blank and icy, revealing none of the anger he had expressed earlier, but a sharp intake of breath showed that he was as unhappy with this development as he had been with any of the others.

Really, this was an activity that promised he would never get tired of it. This boy was half again as amusing as most of the people Seifer teased on a regular basis.

"I'm guessing that means I can do whatever I want?" he asked, though there really wasn't much of a question behind it. He was already unscrewing the cap to the liner. Those eyes needed to be brought out the most.

"It means you can go to hell." Squall hissed, loathing in his voice, though his face remained blank. There was a subtle thrill when the boy lost control enough to do that. Seifer wanted to do it again, wanted to piss him off so much that the mask would slip.

"Oh, undoubtedly I will." Seifer laughed. "You aren't the first to tell me to go there. Now, hold very still."

Squall's eyes widened at the point of the liquid liner pen, before the eyelids fluttered shut in a reflexive reaction. Seifer smirked as he brushed a thick line over the top lids, letting it dry a little before he commanded the boy to open his eyes.

"You have to look up so I can do the bottom of your eyes."

His eyes fluttered open briefly in an incredulous glare before the brunet scrunched them shut defiantly. Seifer sighed. Some people just didn't know what was best for them.

"I _can _do it without your cooperation, so don't think that'll save you. But it won't look as good, and you have at least until you get back to wherever you live to be able to wash this off." he threatened.

"Who says I'm washing it off?" Squall muttered, as though just to be contrary.

"Pfft, what, are you telling me you're not going to? That'll be the day." Seifer honestly laughed at that one. He brushed a finger across the soft skin under the boy's eye, encouraging him to open it. It was done so, even if just to make him stop touching.

Squall's eye twitched involuntarily when the pen came close to it, which was expected. Seifer figured the brunet had never been anywhere near makeup before. It was enough to make anyone twitchy.

"Hold still, already, pretty-boy. You don't need to keep wincing like that." However, that was not enough to prevent Seifer from teasing him about it.

By the time he was done with it, Seifer was fairly sure he'd enjoyed himself a little too much. The already androgynous boy was on the verge of looking girly. Strangely, though, it suited him.

"All done." Seifer announced, leaning back and then pressing harder just to make the chair screech again. "You're free to go."

Squall opened his eyes in an immediate glare at the blonde, rising from the chair Seifer had positioned him in.

"Eeeee, let's see him!" Rachel cheered, looking up from her customer's face. Squall's eyes went wide and another blush swept across his face- all the girls were watching him with interest. However, he somehow managed to cover it up immediately, stalking out of the store completely expressionless.

Seifer watched him go, still interested despite himself. Ah, well- chances were he was never going to see the boy again.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Squall was going to kill Rinoa. He was going to find her, and he was going to kill her. That was that. He stalked down the streets aimlessly, not actually thinking he was going to find her this way, but with the idea as a kind of pleasant hope in the back of his mind. Yes, it would be nice to be able to find her just like that.

It just had no chance in a million that it was going to happen. Squall didn't know what Rinoa did anymore. He didn't know where she was likely to be at any given time- Hyne, if he paid that much attention to the girl he wouldn't have any time for anything else.

He gave it up when the sky started to go dark. Might as well go back home and he could call her later.

A convenience store caught his eye as he tried to get his bearings on where his apartment would be in comparison to this place. His mom had said to pick up groceries... Even though she had probably never expected him to. Squall didn't like places like Wal-Mart and Marsh- he preferred much smaller, local stores.

He went in anyway, grabbed a basket, and started his 'stroll' through the store. He didn't really remember what he was supposed to get off the top of his head, but he figured that when he saw anything it would jog his memory.

It wasn't until he was making his way through the non-food aisles that something else caught his eye.

Makeup had never been something he'd paid attention to in the past. Makeup on _him_ had certainly never crossed his mind. But there had been a challenge made that still irked him. What, did that idiot back there think he wouldn't keep it on? He had just walked all over town in it, hadn't he?

Well screw that guy, Seifer or whatever his name was. Squall would certainly show _him_. If Seifer thought that he wouldn't even keep a little bit on for the day, Squall would put it on himself.

He added a bottle of liquid eyeliner to the basket.

o.O.o.0.o.O.o.0.o.O.o

A/N: Otay. Short. I know. Sorry.

Also, I am extremely sorry about the long long wait for this one.

The thing is that I have like 6 or 7 stories going at once- You all just never see them 'cause I don't post them. 'Cause things like this happen.

Don't worry, I won't abandon it totally. I still love this story. (And there are people in real life to bug me about it, so it won't go away...)

Updates will just be much more erratic from now on. (sweatdrop)


End file.
